


pinned and perused

by Anecdoche (so_psychso)



Series: self indulgent mechs oneshots [2]
Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: M/M, Nonbinary Character, Oral Sex, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trans Male Character, Tribbing, Vaginal Fingering, Vignette, transmasc nb hence the m/m tag but ygm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:20:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26017918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_psychso/pseuds/Anecdoche
Summary: Occasionally, Jonny is inclined to gentler engagements. Lyf is lucky enough to enjoy such an evening with him.
Relationships: Jonny d'Ville/Lyfrassir Edda
Series: self indulgent mechs oneshots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860787
Comments: 8
Kudos: 92





	pinned and perused

**Author's Note:**

> Lyf... hot, that's it that's the note.
> 
> Terms for Jonny are cock, cunt.  
> Terms for Lyf are clit, cunt.
> 
> Enjoy kings, I'm gonna go scurry back into my hnoc writing hole now, just had to get this out.

It’s the way Jonny first grabs them that doesn’t quite add up. Certainly, the result carries more or less the same, with Lyf pinned to the nearest wall and a mouthful of hot, heavy breaths. Some their own. Most, Jonny’s. Demanding teeth by anyone’s account, and Lyf has endured enough of Jonny’s aggression to read the situation for what it is, but that initial catalyst—the fingers around their elbow, knuckles digging at the small of their back, the fluidity, almost, to the way the mate turned them around and got that knee between their thighs—it’s far too soft, utterly anathema to Jonny’s preferred methods.

And, fucking hell, if that doesn’t get their blood beating hot in all the best places. One of which Jonny carves at wickedly with his teeth, sucking purple to the surface of their throat.

“Care t-to divulge what’s inspired this?” 

They try, they really do try to keep their voice steady, but Jonny’s still latched across their trachea, troubling each syllable with hums and growls of his own.

“S’a man need an excuse to fuck?” The mate eventually deigns to reply.

“Typically, yes,” Lyf answers, though the latter bit draws out on a sibilant hiss as Jonny grinds his knee up.

“Okay, then you’re my excuse.”

And before Lyf can retort, they’re choking on a shared moan, Jonny prying their mouth open and taking what he wants. A delicious few seconds elapse like that, Lyf settling into the haze of sensation, all slick warm tongue and stings of teeth, and that ever wonderful pressure from Jonny’s knee. In his focus to swallow Lyf’s every gasp, he’s forgone moving it, so Lyf takes the initiative, arching down and forward and back, again and again. 

And Jonny just lets them. No snide remark, no slap across the face for disobedience. Just the selfish chase of pleasure as Lyf fails to consider what, exactly, has gotten into the mate to incline him along such a generous mood.

They’re left wondering a good while yet, even as Jonny disentangles himself and drags Lyf for the nearest bedroom—theirs, as it would transpire. 

A whirlwind of limbs and mouths and tearing-at-clothes later, and Lyf’s falling back into the sheets, their shirt torn open—buttons flown somewhere they’ll no doubt step on when they’re of enough mind to care—and Jonny biting his way down their chest. 

“ _Gods_ ,” Lyf exhales, rolling their hips up to meet Jonny’s. “That mou- _outh_ of yours…”

Jonny pulls back, previously tending none too gently to Lyf’s nipple.

“Yeah?” He says, as if inquiring upon a challenge, his eyes utterly dark, burrowing somewhere so deep all Lyf can do is squirm.

“I… yes,” Lyf stammers, Jonny digging his thumbs into their hips, teasing the band of their trousers. 

“Mm,” Jonny hums, as if deliberating.

Then, in a flurry of motion, he shimmies down Lyf’s prone form, yanking Lyf’s trousers with him. They’ve a scattered moment to gather exactly what’s going on, but by the time their brain has caught up, Jonny’s already got their legs pinned wide and his tongue spread against their clit, lavishing them with slow, obscenely thorough laps.

“Ghffff _fucking_ hell, J-Jonny f- _fuck_.”

They flail a bit as Jonny tapers his tongue and _flicks_ cruelly, their hands unable to settle between tearing at their own hair or Jonny’s. Both suffices to ground them, at least somewhat, and they keen brokenly as Jonny keeps working that perfect, _awful_ mouth of his.

“Don’t even think about coming,” he growls, and chooses exactly then to slip two fingers inside Lyf, curling them sweetly, striking exactly where they’re unable to stymie the sticky-sweet swell of pleasure.

“ _Jonny_ ,” they wheeze, back bowing up off the bed, white hot agony splitting across their shoulder blades from the angle.

“Just like that,” the mate purrs, affecting a smirk against their clit that swiftly melts to an open-mouthed kiss, messy and perfect and so, _so_ good.

“ _Please_ ,” Lyf sobs, “ple- _ease_ , Jonny, I can’t–m’gonna—”

They don’t, of course, though not for their impeccable ability to follow instructions. Merely Jonny pulls back—wicked, horrible man that he is—and tends to the insides of their thighs, instead, biting and sucking enough purple to rival any nightshade ten times over.

“Bastard,” Lyf exhales though does nothing otherwise, having resigned themself to Jonny’s discretion.

The mate hums in agreement, “Mm, but you love it.” 

“I’d love if you got on with it already,” Lyf rebuffs, impatience swirling with the thick cocktail of stunted pleasure sitting abused in their stomach.

“I’m sure you would,” Jonny replies, resting his cheek on Lyf’s left thigh and tracing over their clit with a lazy thumb. “But consider this. I think I’d like to enjoy you tonight.”

“Implying our other engagements are–?”

Jonny answers him by surging up once more, and drawing a thing trickle of blood from their lower lip. He laps it away dutifully, and gods above are they simply helpless to it all.

Sensation-drunk, they hardly notice when he’s pulled away again, but the firm grip of hands on their knees and the curious weight of a leg going astride between theirs grounds them enough to realize exactly what Jonny’s doing.

“O-oh…” they get out, a wisp of a sigh, their pulse tripping over itself as Jonny flashes a smooth, predatory smile, then bears down, sliding the slick hardness of his cock against Lyf’s cunt.

Heat blooms exquisite between them, a heady bouquet of warmth and wetness and something undeniably sweet, and a shock seizes through Lyf’s whole body, contorting at the base of his throat in a shattered whine.

“ _Christ_ ,” Jonny gasps. “Your cunt feels like fucking silk.”

Growled in his limitless timbre of violence and selfishness, the words bolt straight to Lyf’s stomach, and they thrust up against the mate, reaching blindly, scratching at his hips, his torso, wanting to bring him closer, wanting to hold him down harder for a better chance at proper friction, and wanting nothing of that at all, dazed by the strange and sweet intimacy of this subdued pleasure.

“Like that?” Jonny asks, rolling his hips, his cock catching Lyf’s clit, urging a shudder of sparks through their inner thighs.

“Yes,” they answer, too desperate to even consider anything more complicated than that. 

“Yes, _yes_ …”

Jonny smiles, eyes drooping to a half-lurid perusal of Lyf’s helpless state, then he’s bearing down again, properly frantic, measured rhythms and uncoordinated thrusts that leave Lyf soaked to their inner thighs and rutting like an animal, in turn.

Climax arrives almost unexpectedly, and it’s nothing so much like the sharp, acrid thrill wrought by fingers and teeth, or the endless waves that spasm from Jonny’s strap. This is demure, almost, a soft, fluttery thing that undulates along Lyf’s pulse points and seems to bleed out of them where Jonny grinds his cunt against theirs, over and over, no doubt chasing the same, ephemeral pleasure.

Wholly strange, it is, and entirely intoxicating, and the two of them chase every wine-rich second till it’s Jonny who gasps and judders, wincing from overstimulation. He collapses beside Lyf a moment later, and swallows their inquiring smirk with a nicely juxtaposed snap of teeth and a murmured threat that they better not get any ideas about this.

“I haven’t a clue what you could possibly mean,” they answer smartly, full-body sated and perhaps a little too clever for it. They do so love when Jonny shows more of his hand than he means to.

“Good,” the mate grumbles, mouth still insistent against theirs. 

And there are far more dangerous indulgences, besides, so Lyf will hardly fault either of them for this one. No, not at all.

**Author's Note:**

> F i stg ive used that exact last sentence in another fic but i cant for the life of me remember, pls know that I Know but im too lazy to do words better hawyee


End file.
